P is for Pity Party

The original title of this post was "P is for Pick-and-Choose," but as I started writing, "P is for Pity Party" seemed much more appropriate.  It's just one of those nights.

I'm behind in my blogging.  The last few days, being pregnant is just sucking the life out of me.  I think it might be the heat.  I'm sure it doesn't help that I have not been sleeping well.  It is 8:14, and I am already getting tired.  I even took a nap this afternoon.  But enough with the excuses--let's get on with this post

There are so many crappy things that come with a bad break-up.  Not that any break-up can ever really be called "good."  This one was particularly heinous because of the circumstances.  The last few days, I'm struggling to figure out what belongs to me.  Not physical belongings.  I guess I could call them "emotional belongings."  Memories.  Songs.  Things I like to do.  Shows I like to watch.  Even my hockey team--the Pittsburgh Penguins.  There are so many things I associate with him.  I'm trying to sort through them and separate things that were "ours" from things that once were mine, until I brought him in to be a part of them.  The process sucks.  It's painful.  It's depressing.  It is even worse than sorting through the physical belongings.  The memories will never belong to me because they were all lies.  Even someday down the road when this doesn't hurt so much, I'll still remember that none of this was real.  I hate that.

In a lot of ways, I don't remember who I was before him.  In a lot of ways, I can't be that person anymore anyway.  I have outgrown that person.  I used to party and drink a lot.  I loved dancing at the club.  I had a lot of single friends my age--but I was 22 then.  That lifestyle doesn't appeal to me anymore--not that it is really an option considering that I am growing a tiny human in my uterus.  So I guess that means I have to reinvent myself?

Nothing about this is fair.  I don't expect it to be, but I still feel like pointing it out.  I have to start over.  I have to figure out who the hell I am without him.  I have to pick up the pieces and move forward--the whole time missing him and wishing I could go back to the way it used to be.  The whole time knowing that I will probably always love him, despite all he has put me through.  I wish I could take a day off from feeling like this.  I wish I could wake up just one morning without him in my head.  I wish I could stop missing him.  I wish I didn't feel like I'm never going to meet another person who makes me feel as complete as he did.

I wish I could feel like eventually I will get over this and it won't hurt anymore.